


i believe in anything that brings you back home to me

by fortunatedaughter



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst City, F/M, im so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatedaughter/pseuds/fortunatedaughter
Summary: “How’s Chicago?” Ginny questioned, pressing her phone to her ear. They’re making an attempt to stay in contact — if because of that kiss on a dirty sidewalk or because they’re attached now, she doesn’t know. She’s not even sure she wants to know, since knowing seems a lot like dredging up that well of feelings and — she just. Can’t handle that right now.(Not with Noah’s missed calls filling her phone and a slight twinge in her elbow she refuses to acknowledge.)Mike snorted, the phone rustling slightly as he adjusted the phone against his ear. “Windy.” A beat of silence passes. “How’s San Diego?”She shrugged, despite the fact he can’t see the action. “Same as it always been.” (Ginny wants to say it’s duller, bleaker, missing the shining personality of their captain, but. He’s not their captain anymore. He’s not a Padre. He’s a Cub.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> *taps mic*
> 
> is this thing still on
> 
> i know i know what you're all gonna say. "tasha. you got a million WIPs. why the fuck are you ignoring them. update you bitch." and i know, you're right, you're all right. so right. and i promise im getting to them. its slow moving getting my muse back but im working on it. in the meantime, have this.
> 
> originally prompted by mindykahling on tumblr who sent me this:
> 
> “come back. even as a shadow, even as a dream." — euripides.
> 
> and it spiralled from there. enjoy!

“How’s Chicago?” Ginny questioned, pressing her phone to her ear. They’re making an attempt to stay in contact — if because of that kiss on a dirty sidewalk or because they’re attached now, she doesn’t know. She’s not even sure she wants to know, since knowing seems a lot like dredging up that well of feelings and — she just. Can’t handle that right now.

(Not with Noah’s missed calls filling her phone and a slight twinge in her elbow she refuses to acknowledge.)

Mike snorted, the phone rustling slightly as he adjusted the phone against his ear. “Windy.” A beat of silence passes. “How’s San Diego?”

She shrugged, despite the fact he can’t see the action. “Same as it always been.” (Ginny wants to say it’s duller, bleaker, missing the shining personality of their captain, but. He’s not their captain anymore. He’s not a Padre. He’s a Cub.)

More silence. (It’s beginning to fill up with the all the things they can’t say to each other — or won’t say.)

“I gotta go.” Mike grumbled, sighing, “Warm-ups.”

(In the distance she can hear the sounds of his new locker room, soft but still clear.) “Right.” Ginny replied, but the phone had already gone dead.

* * *

 

She dreams about him one night.

It’s just the two of them on the field, lying on their backs looking up at the twinkling sky, laughter fading in the air. She thinks there might even be champagne in the distance, but in this dream world, Ginny isn’t focused on the details, on the visual of Mike lying next to her, soft and bright and happier than she’s ever seen him.

(She doesn’t know how to to feel when she wakes up, right as he leant over to kiss her for a second time.)

She even sees him in the field — a shadow here and there. Sometimes if she lets her eyes unfocus it’s not the profile of Livan she’s staring at, but Mike and his beard and his — well, _everything_.

* * *

 

“You miss him.” Blip states one afternoon, arms crossed over his chest, warm July sun beating down on him and reflecting off his sunglasses.

(They’re up against the Pirates in Pittsburgh, and she can’t help but remember all the times she sat next to Mike on flights in and out of cities dotted across America. Can’t fight the memories of games of Uno and sharing candy and opinions.)

“Don’t be stupid.” Ginny snorted, rolling out her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Salvamini walking up to bat, a dark, fierce look in his eyes.

“Ginny.” Blip’s only been captain for a few weeks at this point, but he’s already got the captain voice down pat. Ginny doesn’t know if she’s proud he’s taking to change like a duck to water, or sad that the old Blip she once knew disappears a little bit each everyday.

A heavy sigh blows past her lips. “He didn’t give up on me. You said that. After my first start when I tanked and basically became **the** national laughing stock. He didn’t give up.” Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip and Ginny allows her head to shake; a brief moment of disappointment and weakness. “But he gave up on himself. On this team. And — I don’t know if I can forgive him for that.”

Blip doesn’t have anything to say to that.

(Ginny isn’t sure if she can be comforted by the silence that wraps around her like a blanket, or choked by the whole feeling.)

* * *

 

She means to call him when the Cubs win the World Series — but the sight of his grinning face on FS1 reminds her too much of that warm summer night on the sidewalk when he confessed to nailing her cleats; and she can’t do it.

“Guess Mike’s gettin’ what he wanted after all, huh?” Blip murmurs, leaning against the doorjamb of her locker room, eyes trained on the TV.

Ginny dug her fingernails into her palm. “Yeah. Guess he is.”

( _Part of me wants you to leave for the same reason you want to leave._ )

* * *

 

Noah breaks up with her. He says it’s not because of her or him but because it’s just — _that time. We’re coming up on our moment, Gin and… I think our moment is to end it. Not keep this moving forward._ (Ginny can’t really blame him. — she hasn’t really been in their relationship since that day on the mound when she loudly and proudly proclaimed to Mike she didn’t need a billionaire taking her all around the world, as if she had nothing else to do.)

And then Andre St. Patrick walks into her life.

(He’s nice, Andre. He’s a shooting guard for the Warriors, — a blend of Noah’s distraction and the brooding attraction of Mike. He works just as hard as she does, except he’s not trying to prove himself, but out-run his demons. He takes her out to nice restaurants, but doesn’t rent the whole place out. When they both play in New York, they go to dive bars in his hometown where everyone knows his name and no one cares about hers. He calls when he says he will and he doesn’t run to a whole fucking different state just because he thinks he’s running out of time to secure his legacy.)

But Ginny still can’t erase the memory of one night outside a darkened bar when the warm breeze fluttered against her skin and how she almost went home with the one man who understands what this game truly means to her.

* * *

 

Their first real contact comes at the Sanders vow renewal service.

It’s been three, maybe four years since they even saw each other, let alone were in the same room.

For some reason, Ginny allowed herself to be swept up in a dance with Mike, and — his hand on her lower back, pressed against her bare skin because she went reckless with her dress for tonight. (It’s a long silvery number, with a curved neckline that shows off her cleavage and near backless too. Ginny can still remember the look on Mike’s face when he spotted her through the crowd, the look of wonder and heat and desire blooming on his handsome features.)

“Hiya stranger.” Mike quipped, a slight smile on his face as they sway gently.

Ginny snorted, head shaking softly. “Hiya back.”

“How’ve you been?”

She shrugged. “Managing.”

“I heard about your basketballer.”

(Even though TMZ is calling it a break-up — that’s not what’s going on between her and Andre. They’re taking time. Space. Figuring out if what they have going on is something worth going all in on, or if they’ve run their course. The thing is, Ginny’s not 23 anymore. She doesn’t want flings and dates and hook ups at after parties. She wants… she wants something _permanent_.)

“Just what happens.” Is her dutiful response.

Mike sees right through it. “Hmm.”

“You doing anything later?” He questioned, innocently glancing around the hall, smiling at any people he recognises.

Or maybe he doesn’t see through it. Ginny frowned over at him, her hand tightening against his shoulder. “What?”

“You doing anything later?”

“Mike…” She trailed off. There’s a million reasons why doing something, anything with him, is a bad idea. Sure, they aren’t teammates anymore, and there’s nothing technically stopping them, but. Andre flashes through her mind and their break and their time. (She loves Andre, could very much fall in love with him one day in the future if she wants that. But does she?) There’s a million reasons why doing something, anything with Mike Lawson is a bad idea, but at the same time, there are a million good reasons.

Boardners flashes through Ginny’s mind and she hesitates, the words _no, I’m not doing anything later,_ rest heavy on her tongue.

Mike’s hand flexes against her bare back, sending a shiver through Ginny. “No one would have to know, Ginny. Just you and me.”

Andre’s face flashes through her mind, and she hesitates. But her hesitation seems to be enough of an answer for Mike, who merely nods once, a slow, sad smile blooming on his face.

And just like that, Mike’s leaning forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, and she’s left standing alone on the dance floor, watching him leave for a second time.'

* * *

 

They meet again at the baptism for Evelyn and Blip’s new baby girl. (She’s godmother and he’s godfather, and the irony that they keep getting brought back together, pulled into each other’s lives as if it was inevitable… — it isn’t lost on the 29 year old.)

“Baker.” Mike drawls, something deep and dark shining in his eyes.

Ginny brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Lawson.”

Silence passes and Ginny takes the moment to drink him in. It’s been near two years since she last saw him, _really_ saw him, aside from in her memories or when they both managed to a quick nod across a crowded benefit hall.

(She stubbornly refuses to acknowledge that moment between the two of them on the dancefloor years ago, where they very nearly made right on that kiss outside of Boardners.)

He’s changed but he also hasn’t. There’s no beard, only a thick scruff and she’s able to see so much more of his face than before. He looks lighter around the edges, not just because of weight lost, but the pressure for winning a World Series taken off, too. He looks good — better and lighter and happier than he has in years. (But there’s still something dark and rough clinging to him. Ginny used to think that was from his upbringing but now… now she thinks it might be because they never got their chance.)

Ginny took a heavy sip of her red wine. “Godfather, huh?”

“Yeah.” Mike nods, eyes never leaving hers. “Sara’s considering it the trial run.”

An eyebrow raises. “For?”

“Our own kids.”

Something deep and dark and ugly punches through Ginny’s gut. “Wow.” And she thinks she doesn’t give anything away on her face — but Mike’s always been able to read her better than anyone. She’s saved from answering however, by Andre’s timely arrival, arm slipping around her waist and smiling at Mike.

(As if Mike isn’t the man she kissed outside a bar, nearly went home with at a wedding and near threw everything away for, once upon a time.)

* * *

 

They manage to find themselves alone on the balcony, Blip and Evelyn playing host with the little girl, the apple of her big brothers eyes.

“You love her?” Ginny questioned, soft as the breeze that floats around them. She doesn’t know how they got onto this topic, but there’s no turning back now.

Mike doesn’t say anything for a beat. “Yeah.”

“Good. That’s — that’s good.” She keeps her gaze focused on the twinkling San Diego skyline, refusing to let him see the tears stinging her eyes. (She has Andre, dammit, and still — she’s like this.)

“You love him?” Mike questioned, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.)

“Yeah.” And she does — Christ, she loves Andre. She loves him in all the ways she possibly can, but the one thing he wants, her heart, she can’t give to him because it was given to someone else. Long before she ever knew he had it, long before she was ever able to protest and steal her heart back.

A bitter laugh falls from Mike’s lips and he takes a heavy sip of the drink in his hand. (Always was an emotional drinker, that one.) “What happened to us?”

“What always happens?” Ginny sighed, reaching a finger up to wipe away the tears, now that Mike isn’t looking at her. “Life.”

He leaned heavily against the railing, and a rough sigh broke past his lips. “We always had really bad timing, didn’t we?”

Ginny snorted. “You can say that again.”

Mike took another sip of his whiskey, before glancing at Ginny out of the corner of his eye. “Guess we’ll never know what good timing looks like, huh?”

Suddenly, Ginny felt so very and utterly sad. The life they could have had — she can see it clearly. Mike doesn’t leave the Padres, and the two of them give them a shot. The laughter they could have shared, the happiness they could have brought the others. She can see it as if it’s a whole other world and the on she’s living in is wrong. (A marriage, kids, a nice home. A life shared, not two separate lives lived together like her own parents.)

Her bottom lip trembles and she exhaled roughly. “It was good seeing you Mike.”

(What have they done with their lives to have them end up here? In love but knowing it’s not enough? Seeing a life together, but unable to make it a reality?)

“You too, rookie.”


End file.
